Chapter Thirty
Sighing, I went to speak with the Dragon King, shaking silver flakes from my hair as I went. He met me halfway, his expression unreadable thanks to the mask he wore.
“Sevarin,” he said, low and soft.
“I took guards and had Torli notify you,” I hastily cut him off.
“Yes, I know. You've kept to our agreement. But once you found this,”—he motioned at the room, his stare darkening—“you should have returned.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to investigate this with you.”
“You're paying me to do this work. You have your own job to do.”
“Sevarin, you were supposed to be resting. Not wading through rot!” He waved his hand at the silver-coated room. “You know I'm right.”
“Yes, but I recalled the bridge falling, and it occurred to me it shouldn't have.” I glanced at the men watching us and lowered my voice. “I think I was wrong.”
“How so?”
“It does spread through resonant enchantment loops, but I don't know if removing those will end this.
Look at this room. It's the worst case of rot I've seen.
I need to find what's causing this before I can be certain.” I motioned to the floor.
“It's as thick as snowfall. It must be coming from below.
And if this was the first case, then whatever is below is likely the origin of the Silver Rot.
I didn't think there was an origin. That hidden armory led me to believe the rot spontaneously appeared within the magic. Now, I'm not so sure.”
“Yes, fine. You will investigate. But I will go with you.” He pulled a silver chain from his jacket and handed it to me. Hanging from it was a spherical pendant.
“What's this?” I inspected the pendant. Within a wire cage was a black cloth ball.
“It's a protective talisman.” Falken lifted his chin.
I smirked even though he couldn't see it behind my mask. “Then maybe you should wear it.”
The Dragon King leaned down, his hair glinting gold in the light, and his eyes glowing with amber fire. “If you die, I will burn this city to the ground.”
I gaped at him.
“Now put it on.”
With trembling fingers, I undid the clasp and then fastened the chain around my neck. When I was done, he nodded, his shoulders loosening, and then tucked the necklace into my shirt.
Clearing my throat, I turned around. Orro's eyes crinkled above his mask. The idiot was grinning at me.
The King stepped up beside me and waved his knights forward. “Inspect the second stairwell.”
The Dragons already had light tubes in hand, and they marched across the crunchy floor without hesitation or any sign of instability.
Hud and the horns pulled out of their way, eyes wide.
The knights were indeed impressive—a line of ten Dragons wearing leather armor and swords on their belts, with massive, muscular physiques and enough difference in coloring to satisfy anyone's tastes.
They didn't fear the rot. They probably feared nothing, which I thought unwise.
Even a Dragon could be killed. I watched them enter the stairwell, their light lingering to shine on the silver walls of the passage.
Falken and I joined the others at the entrance to the stairwell.
After a few minutes, a knight called up that it was safe to descend.
The King went first, and I followed, trying to peer around and then under his broad shoulders.
Light haloed him, coming from below. The air smelled metallic, and it got colder the deeper we went.
The King stepped out of the stairwell and kept going.
I got a glimpse of a silver room, and then I stepped out of the stairwell to follow Falken.
As I came abreast of him, I spun in a circle to take it all in.
The rot was so thick there that silver hung from the ceiling like stalactites and mounds of it rose from the floor like strange statues.
I wound around the formations as the others came into the room, making sounds of awe and fear. And then I heard a whirring.
I went toward the sound, stopping just behind the semi-circle of Dragon knights, and gaped at the thing taking up most of the end of the room.
“What the fuck is that?” Orro's voice came from behind me.
“The source,” I whispered.